The curious Bi-polar Narcissistic family I have heard people say and I have read the blogs that talk of watching a loved one die, as they fall to mental decay and old age. What I experienced in my partner is another way of dying I guess. We had a baby three weeks old. My wife 27 and I was 25 years old. She was Bi-polar and difficult to live with, having a medical history of psychotic episodes and electric convulsion therapy (ECT) This medical history and serious condition, I was not told about even after we were married. But I made all the most optimistic allowances for the moods and didn’t worry too much. I pushed a lot of doubt and worry to the back of my mind and just carried on. I guess I blamed myself for much of the drama. I guess that is the normal thing one does in a relationship with a Bi-polar partner. One morning I awoke as usual, a lot of love for the mother of my baby in my heart, the ever present hope that she would express some tenderness and appreciation toward me this morning. But when her eyes opened they were as black as night. She got up, picked up our crying infant and dropped her as she failed to hold her beside the bed. I was able to half catch the baby between my hand and the side of the bed. I quickly stood up beside her with the baby safe in my arms. The blackness of my wife’s dark eyes and the cold and blank expression were terrifying for me. Jan was looking straight ahead at nothing and she asked me, “Who am I? What am I doing here? Do you know my name? Am I dead? Is this hell? Surely it isn’t heaven?” There was water running from here eyes. Strangely, they were not tears. Her face did not know the water rushed from her eyes. There were seconds of a sinister, frightening laugh, as the tears rushed to the floor. She didn’t know what the water was or where it came from. She said quickly with the strangest laugh, “you have made a mess here”. My heart sank and ached painfully when she looked at me and asked me, ” who are you? You are not a very nice man. What are you doing here? Are you the devil”? I remember my face when she said that as I could see myself in the mirror. I can’t remember a more anxious feeling. I can’t ever remember a feeling of loss like this moment. Perhaps those first few seconds after I heard that my mother died, was like this. That moment when my wonderful dog died in my arms after a car run over her was like this in my chest also. But I felt so lost right then. My stomach had a pain in it, a panic, but somehow I held onto the baby and I focussed on her as I told Jan to go to bed. In desperation I walked to her mother’s room to ask for advice and help This was the beginning of the very worst part of the nightmare that was my marriage at that time. How I dealt with this at age 25, I do not know. We were living briefly with her mother at the time as the baby was born and the recovery period passed. In her possession, my mother In-law had documents from my wife’s psychiatrist explaining the danger of child birth and the urgency around such an event and actions to prevent psychotic episodes. She chose to hide and ignore these things and to pray instead. The mother in-law and brother in-law were heartless imbeciles throughout this crisis. They abused me in a very subtle and nasty manner. They blamed me for all the difficult things happening. They did this in full knowledge of what should happen, what needed to be done. Yet they chose to tell me nothing and to deny any serious problem. They chose to blame me for my wife’s difficulties. They made me feel responsible for the disease and accused me of causing all her insanity. They told me that if I was a good catholic man with the faith, my wife would not be sick. Her mother told me, when my wife was in hospital having ECT and unsure of the prognosis, that it would be best if she died in hospital, rather then come home mentally ill. She told me she would not help me with the baby. She told me that if Jan came home that I would have to take her to my home town and that she could not stay with her mother. She told me that Jan was her daughter, but is now my wife and my responsibility. She told me in some detail how a man with the catholic faith would have been more supportive and she would not have been ill. She expressed the notion that they had been generous in allowing their daughter to marry a man with no faith. She expressed the idea that I was lucky they allowed me to have her and that I had not appreciated this and I had messed up her daughter’s life. As ridiculous as it all sounds now, at age 55, at the time, I felt a tremendous guilt and feeling of inadequacy. I felt that I was not good enough and that this family, mother and brother were way above me in terms of life skills and maturity. I felt that it was my fault. I felt a tremendous shame and doubt that I could be a good father. The psychiatrist expressed amazement that I did not know about my wife’s pre existing serious mental health condition. He told me she may never recover. He told me that to allow this marriage without telling me of the condition was a serious abuse of trust. He expressed great disappointment in the actions and denial of Jan’s family. He was surprised that they had ignored his extensive advice and allowed the condition to get so advanced and could not understand that her mother had not contacted him. He said it was gross negligence on her part. When Jan regained consciousness, I was there waiting, with baby and flowers, love and a smile. Despite this trauma I found optimism and a need to encourage and show my determination and faith in her. She opened her eyes and expressed no care what ever, no love, no appreciation, no feelings at all. Just stone cold, she asked me, “Why are you still here”? I held up the baby in anticipation of a joyous response. But nothing at all, just a repeat of the question, “why are you still here”? During that discussion, I was sitting there, loving this child and this woman with all my heart at that moment. But still I had inside me the words of her mother, “it would be best if she was in the lord’s care rather then return home mentally ill”. Deeper still this feeling that I was inferior spiritually to her mother and brother and that I was inadequate and not good enough, seemed plausible to me. The psychiatrist’s and the staff’s encouraging words to me were buried in all this manipulation of my heart and criticism by the in-laws. I know what it is like to wake from a crisis in hospital and see a loved one there. When it happened to me, I read the body language on my sister’s face and it inspired me. I know now that Jan can’t read body language spontaneously. It doesn’t matter how powerful it is, she doesn’t see it. Naturally I thought at the time, she is still coming out of this and is not able to function. I waited a few days and a few days more. Then I went on waiting for years, still not once, true affirmation, appreciation or basic awareness of my genuine love and care. There have been moments of planned and fake expression of expected emotion. But never the wonderful spontaneous exchange of true love did I see from her in so many years. As the days progressed, I had several talks with the psychiatrist and he expressed surprise at Jan’s progress. He told me of Jan’s relatives and the curious personality disorders in the family. The language of the time (1981) is perhaps different to now. These things seemed unlikely to me then. Now I know his descriptions were true, though a little generous to some members of the family. Much effort in her family went into the denial of mental illness. No stone unturned in the effort to conceal family weakness, but nothing at all done that came from the spontaneous spark of true care and love. In fact, such demonstrations of emotion and care were frowned upon and when felt in the company of this family, I felt inferior and weak for being emotional. Each day at 6am I went to the hospital for breakfast. I took flowers and constant messages of true care for my wife. Still her response was cold and I guessed it would be the drugs dulling her senses. I am an electrician and I fixed power points in the hospital and an air conditioner as well as some dripping taps. Our baby was cared for by the nurses and they loved me and the child and I could feel it. This genuine appreciation of me by the nurses and staff at the site was written all over their manner, twice a day when I came there. Each night I reported improvement and hope to Jan’s mother. Several times she repeated her doubt and that she would prefer and it would be best if Jan stayed in the hospital or died. She said it would be best if she was in the good Lord’s care then to come home ill. My mind continued to make excuses for this un acceptable ruthless lack of care. I thought to myself that my mother would be so upset and unable to function if my sister was as ill as Jan. I felt it natural she would be a little odd at times during this crisis. I thought it must be such a traumatic thing for a mother to feel. The truth though was stranger then the fiction. This was a totally heartless and cold imbecile, not deserving of the title “mother”. But it seems I would endlessly go on making excuses for many years to come. The hospital was a few blocks away. I tried several times to get the mother and the brother to visit. She would not. I wanted to get other relatives to visit. I was forbidden to tell anyone. The mother and the brother would not visit. There were no messages of support. There were no messages of love to her daughter. There were no phone calls. She refused to visit the psychiatrist with me. She told me again and again in eloquent language, that her daughter was now my responsibility. She indicated that the church must not ever know of this illness. Now I sit often and wonder why I felt guilty, assumed the blame and admired the mother and brother through the fog and trauma of this event. How did I find anything at all to justify their amazing cold and heartless manner? These are two imbeciles, yet I defended them many times whenever doubt was expressed about their integrity by any of my family. The day I was to take Jan home, I was so very proud. I was proud of my daughter, the psychiatrist, the staff at the hospital, my wife, the faith I had in her, the effort I had put in and the improvement in her condition. The psychiatrist shook my hand and expressed sincere admiration for me and my commitment to my family. I wanted so much to share this joy with family. But I was forbidden to talk to anyone. This joy overflowed from me the night before and the morning I drove off to get her. But the mother was disappointed that her daughter was coming home. She was totally negative and pretending to be supportive. She feared the church members would know of the mental illness in the family. When we arrived home, my chest was full of pride and joy about this improvement and the recovery I was sure would eventuate. My daughter was thriving from the care at the hospital and a beautiful baby. But there was no hug at the door. No expression of a caring mother at the door. She didn’t come to the door. She was outside hanging up some washing. We walked to the back door and she yelled across the yard, “Jan this would not have happened to you if you married a decent catholic man”. I remember walking to the back of the yard as they were in the kitchen, mother daughter and brother. I hugged my baby girl and looked across the fence. There was a woman about my age with a baby in her arms and her mother standing by so proud. She said across the fence, congratulations. I could see in them this wonderful family love. I felt so lost and alone. Still there within me was a deep feeling of inadequacy. Can you believe it? I still looked up to their apparent strength and spirituality. When I went back inside, I asked them what they mean about a good catholic man. I asked them what’s the difference between me and a catholic man.? They all agreed that if I had the faith, all would be balanced and Jan would not have become sick. | 
